


Brought to Heel

by coaldustcanary



Category: Carnival Row (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21844552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/pseuds/coaldustcanary
Summary: With everything on the table, and the options a veritable feast, Sophie and Jonah consider their next steps.
Relationships: Jonah Breakspear/Sophie Longerbane
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Brought to Heel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/gifts).



> Happy holidays! I love these two, in all their highly functional-dysfunctional splendor.

Unrolling the folio delivered with the morning post to Longerbane Manor with care, Sophie took several slow moments to review the image and the scrawled notes within dispassionately. It took all of her considerable will to resist tearing the pencil-sketch portrait of her father. There he was—clad in his Parliamentary best, expression proud and waistline discreetly cinched in—and she wanted nothing more than to rip the image into bits. Ritter Longerbane had been dead a fortnight and her irritation with his foolish pride had not abated in the slightest. Her fingers crooked viciously at the very thought of having to attend another ceremony months from now when the full and final painting was dedicated and hung in Parliament’s halls.

If her father had been a different sort of man, her opportunities might have been more interesting, and she could not help but resent the narrow path on which she now found her feet set. But a provincial and reactionary politician he had been, and so the breadth of her performance was similarly limited. Besides, if he had been a different sort of man, what sort of woman would she have been?

With a soft hum of consideration, Sophie inked her signature of approval on the documents within the parcel, rolled it back up, and deposited it in the outgoing post tray alongside a number of other missives touching on excruciatingly small matters drawn out by her father’s passing. The acknowledgement of condolences was in and of itself nightmarish and apparently unending; she had hoped that the interminable hours of conjuring tears beneath a veil and clasping hands with strangers would have been enough. But no, not everyone had attended her father’s lying-in-state, and the formal, empty words from neighboring governments, lifetime civil servants with postings abroad, and even those locals who had retired from public life due to age or illness or Uncertainty in These Trying Times were apparently legion.

She rung a bell perched prominently on the desk's edge, and within moments a servant, a woman dressed in smart, new livery, appeared with a bobbing curtsy.

"Prepare these messages for the postman, and tidy things in here. I'm stepping out for the afternoon, but I'll be back to work shortly," Sophie said briskly, pushing the mail in the girl's direction and waving her hand to indicate the entirety of the office. The fire in the grate needed tending, and the remains of an earlier tea service to clear up. This Leonora was nothing like Jenila, and to have to worry about the training of her now, of all times, was unfortunate. She missed Jenila already. The faun had been her maidservant for a decade, and the loss of all that training would be missed. Jenila hardly needed to be asked to tend to Sophie's every need, from adjusting her clothing, to tidying her rooms, to reverent and dutiful kissing and the use of her mouth. Seducing her had been a wonderful puzzle to solve, and great practice, and Sophie found herself surprisingly fond of the little faun, after it all.

Still, it could not be helped. Sophie had made every provision for Jenila's well-being on the Row, spending money carefully and exacting promises of care and good treatment with the threat of the law behind her, but these were difficult times, after all. It would be disappointing if Jenila could not come back to her service after all this was done with.

Sophie groaned softly and pushed back from her desk, standing to stretch the stiffness from her back and look out on the gray-lit day and the misty rains casting a soft, smudged appearance to the gardens. It was a lovely view, tranquil and soothing. There were some few sprouts and shoots emerging from the garden beds, and a pair of servants were hard at work tending the grounds, turning the earth with spades and starting new plantings.

It was strange to see those heads bent low over their work without any horns. For as long as she could remember, the majority of servants at Longerbane Manor had been non-human. A gentle and kind Faun had been her first nanny, and there had been several other Fauns and Fae among the kitchen and chamber servants. There’d even been a Centaur in the stables for a time. As a child she could not understand why they would work for her father when it was clear that he was disgusted by them and saw them as such lesser beings.

She understood a great deal more, now. Her path was narrow—as narrow, in some ways, as the path the indentured servants in her family’s service had walked—but the end held promise. Turning away from the windows, she clucked her tongue, and Upuaut bounded to his paws from where he lay by the fire.

“Come on, then, out we go,” she called, heading directly for the door.

* * *

Jonah found her in the gardens, mist beading in her hair and her black mourning dress heavy with damp, throwing a ball for a huge, pale dog. Sophie threw the ball across the yard, sending it soaring over plant beds, not far above the heads of the gardeners, who only tended to their work meticulously, as if used to this diversion. The wolf-like beast ran flat out, paws scattering mud and gravel with every stride, to retrieve the ball, only to return at an easy lope, spinning in an excited circle after it would drop the ball at Sophie’s feet, waiting for her to throw it once again.

The corner of his mouth drawn down with mild distaste, Jonah stepped closer to Sophie, offering her space under his umbrella. She snorted a laugh, even as the beastly dog stopped its excited dance to fix its gaze unerringly on him, a low, humming growl emerging. He stepped back suddenly, and Sophie’s usual expression of mild amusement turned almost joyful, her small, superior smile stretching into something wider and not a little feral. Her grin bared her teeth at him as she scooped the ball from the ground and threw it again.

“How gentlemanly!” she exclaimed sweetly, wet strands of hair pulling free from their confines to stick to her face and fall heavy against her neck. With a delicate flick of a fingernail, she pulled some strands of hair away from her eye, but otherwise seemed unbothered by her dishevelment. Sophie set a hand on her hip and looked him up and down with naked appraisal, and Jonah could not help but draw himself up straighter beneath her gaze, flinching abruptly as the motion dislodged water from his umbrella and splashed his elbow. Sophie clucked her tongue in dismay, just in time for the dog to return with his prize, drop it unceremoniously at their feet, and shake himself vigorously, spraying them both with damp.

“Fuck!” Jonah hissed, jumping back from the sudden deluge, while Sophie affected an expression of shock and indignation.

“Well, I never, Chancellor! Such language!” she tutted, scratching the dog’s neck and giving its ear a playful tug.

“Sophie,” he began, exasperation creasing his forehead. “Can we go in out of the rain to talk?”

“Mmm. No, I don’t think so,” she said, wiping damp dog fur from her hands onto the heavy crape of her mourning dress, the pale fur bright against the black of the gown. Jonah resisted the urge to brush at his own clothing with some effort.

“We can talk out here,” she continued lightly, stepping in close and linking her wet, fur-speckled arm in his. Even as he recoiled, she rested her free hand, wet and filthy from the dog’s toy, on his forearm possessively. Reflexively, he moved the umbrella over to shield her, arm stiff under her hands.

“Good boy,” she murmured. Jonah clenched his teeth on a sharp retort as she clucked at the dog.

“Heel, Upuaut,” she continued, turning to pull Jonah along the garden path. They walked in silence for a short time, leaving the anxious gardeners behind, the pale dog panting at their heels.

“The Puck who killed my father is dead,” Jonah said abruptly. Sophie’s lips pursed in distaste.

“I’m frankly surprised he survived so long. The Guard is not gentle.” There was disgust in her voice, but a little anger, also. “Did they learn anything of interest?” It was Jonah’s turn to appear disappointed.

“Not enough. But no matter. The Row is penned in on all sides. It will be hard work, locating these traitors, but it’s just a matter of time, now,” he said firmly. Sophie’s sigh was disappointed.

“The Row is corralled, but it’s deeper than you think, Jonah,” she said. At his confused expression, she shook her head. “I don’t mean literally, though I wouldn’t be at all surprised, knowing how Ignotans engage in warfare, if there were tunnels below the Row, but they are quite good at hiding, even in what should be plain sight. I think you overestimate the ability of the police or the Guard to track a single Faun to whoever put him up to this assassination.” Jonah tried hard not to sulk.

“He wasn’t going to give up any names. I did warn them to be exceedingly careful, but…” he cut himself off and make a small, vague gesture with his free hand. “In any case, we’ll be sending in particular patrols among the standard ones, soon. Ones specifically dedicated to sorting out where this unrest is coming from. And meanwhile—“ he began, as Sophie gave his arm a squeeze.

“Meanwhile, it’s time the _people_ of the Burgue have a little celebration. The next elections aren’t for over a year, but it’s never too early to begin making good connections. The sudden drop in unemployment has been welcomed in many quarters, though not all. If we are to displace the non-humans, we will need to encourage human immigration once more, before the industrial class begin fretting, without all those sturdy hooves clip-clopping in the factories and no more hum of pretty little wings stirring the air above their beds as well as their cocks,” Sophie said tartly. Jonah swallowed heavily, aroused despite himself by her pointed use of crude language.

“What you said—“ he began, briefly lapsed to silence at her heavy look. “When you took up your father’s seat. About how the Burge had welcomed your mother’s family from the Pharonic Coast. They all loved it, they were all eating straight out of your hand. People love to think of the Burgue as being above and beyond all the Beornlands, the last vestige of the Empire. Exceptional. It’s a message more than just Parliament should hear.” Sophie smiled, tilting her head to study his face. Jonah tried to look earnest—he felt that way, to be sure. When Sophie, demure in her widow’s weeds, had pulled Parliament to heel with just a few words, he’d found himself near-breathless with wanting her.

He didn’t think she would have much trouble bringing the common folk of the Burgue to her side, either. In fact, he thought vaguely, as she stepped into his body, pressing his shoulders firmly against the rough bark of a nearby tree, he expected that quite soon more than a few other Burguishmen would know exactly how he had felt in that moment, if not quite so intimately. Sophie’s smile was luminous, her pleased expression causing his breath catch in his throat.

“Good boy,” she mouthed against his neck, scraping her teeth firmly behind his ear, and Jonah shuddered willingly into her embrace.


End file.
